


Breakfast In Bed

by bushviper



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Family time, Fluff and Smut, Mini-Mac Tirs, Morning Sex, cute bbs, so schmoopy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:08:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushviper/pseuds/bushviper
Summary: Loghain and their children conspire to spoil Moira Mac Tir nee Cousland with breakfast in bed on her birthday.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bainsidhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bainsidhe/gifts).
  * Inspired by [From the Ashes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4430924) by [bainsidhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bainsidhe/pseuds/bainsidhe). 



> My dear friend and beta Bain Sidhe let me borrow her fantastic OC Moira Cousland and her absolutely delicious version of Loghain. This is my imagined extrapolation of their lives together, if they get their happily ever after (AHEM, THEY'D BETTER!!) and go on to have some babies.
> 
> If you'd like to read the inspiration for this fic (and you really, really should), please follow the link below to Bain Sidhe's excellent story, "From The Ashes."

**[From The Ashes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4430924/chapters/10068209) **

* * *

 

_29 Firstfall, 9:40 Dragon_

Loghain awoke as he always did, suddenly and all at once, his eyes snapping open and his mind briskly shedding the fogginess of sleep. Subconsciously, he readied himself for the slap of little feet in the corridor and the boisterous “whispers” of his sons on the other side of the bedchamber door, debating who would wake Mama and who would wake Papa. He waited for them, gently stroking his sleeping wife’s hip, and after a few minutes of silence, he grew concerned. They rose each day like clockwork, the twins, a trait they’d inherited from their father. He reluctantly prepared to get up, growing more certain by the minute that the boys had managed to find some mischief, until he remembered: it was Moira’s birthday, and Bryce and Gareth were sleeping in the royal guest quarters with their cousins. And his daughter, Eleanor, had spent the night in the other guest wing with Teagan, Cauthrien and their gaggle of girls, while little Ciaran was in the nursery, where he would be content to play quietly in his crib until someone came in to fetch him. For the first time in a long time, Loghain had the beginning of Moira’s day all to himself.

He tightened his hand on her hip, reveling in the feel of her warm, beloved body snuggled against his belly. His cock, already half hard, stiffened and swelled as Moira sighed sleepily and nestled closer. She drew his hand across her side and clutched it against her chest, pressing her pert little bum firmly against the bulge in his sleep-trousers. Loghain grinned in the quiet darkness, unsure if his affectionate and playful wife was awake and teasing him, or merely enjoying a cuddle in her sleep. He held still for a moment, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her hair and the skin at the crook of her neck, and then slowly extracted his hand from her grip and palmed her breast through her nightdress. He cradled the familiar curve, delighting anew in its pleasing weight and shape, as her perfectly formed nipples stiffened beneath the delicately embroidered linen of her gown.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Loghain placed light kisses on her exposed shoulder as he teased her breast and subtly – all right, perhaps not so subtly – rocked his hips against her backside. Moira squirmed against him, puffing out a noisy breath that could have been either a huff of indignation or just a light snore, and he paused, his lips pressed against her soft skin. Poor Moira. As Teyrna of Gwaren, Hero of Ferelden, and most pertinently, mother of four, she so rarely had the chance to sleep in; perhaps it was inconsiderate of him to paw at her like a beast in rut on the one morning she might wake at her leisure. But his cock could not find sense in the argument – his wife enjoyed lovemaking more than sleep, as she’d proven many a late night when they’d tumbled into bed, exhausted, and she’d still insisted upon having him before they both lapsed into slumber. Well, turnabout was fair play. His lusty little temptress would surely enjoy her orgasm no matter the hour, and the fullness of his manhood refused to be denied.

He renewed his attention to her delectable body, taking her earlobe between his teeth as he toyed with her nipple and shamelessly rubbed his now aching cock against the cleft of her arse, tantalizingly firm beneath the thin layers of clothing that separated their skin. Moira arched her back a little, in a timeless, effective display that she seemed to have perfected naturally, pressing her breast into his palm and her rear against his loins. That slow, luxurious movement – the curve of her spine, the roll of her hips – was all the welcome Loghain required. He pulled his hand from her breast and pushed his fingers lower, sliding down and then up beneath her bed dress and through the narrow hollow between her thighs, to tease her sex through her small clothes. The crotch of the garment was already slickened with her need, and Loghain chuckled.

“So I take it you’re awake?”

“Barely,” Moira mumbled, shifting to the side a bit and opening her legs.

Loghain accepted the invitation without delay, snaking his hand beneath the waistband of her knickers and rumbling with pleasure when his fingers coursed against wet curls and swollen lips. He would never tire of this – he would never tire of _her_ , and how easily her body readied for him. It was but a fraction of the full measure of his love for her, but he did love it, and he felt both deep satisfaction and deep gratitude for his wife’s unwavering enthusiasm for their marital bed.

Moira shifted onto her back and draped her leg across his hips, allowing him the opportunity to observe her in the burgeoning light filtering through the windows. Her long, dark lashes lay in lush curves against her cheeks, and her full, ripe lips were parted and glistening. It was too dark yet to see if her face was flushed, but gauging from the soft gasps she issued every time he gave her pearl a firm stroke, he imagined that she was blushing prettily for him. He slid his fingers lower and then thrust them into her slick, hot core with practiced ease. He knew exactly what she wanted, and he intended to give it to her – for a moment.

They lay together in near silence, save her hushed moans and the occasional wet sounds of his fingers working between her legs, and when he could tell she was close, Loghain withdrew his hand, pushed her leg from across his body, and rolled her over onto her side. He then tugged her small clothes down just far enough that he could access the relevant area, and pulled his own soft breeches down to free his cock and balls. He was so hard, he had to grit his teeth against the ache as he slid against her cleft; the feel of her soft, sodden valley was agonizing against his throbbing member.

Loghain knew he needed no permission, but he enjoyed teasing her with his manhood until Moira grew impatient and thrust her delicious rump at him, angling her hips to receive his swollen cock. Once she did, he entered her immediately, burying himself to the hilt in her impossibly wet, preposterously hot flesh. They moved together slowly, comfortably, knowing each other’s bodies so well and yet never tiring of joining together. He pumped his hips languorously, not wanting to finish too soon – not only for her pleasure, but to savor this rare morning together, intimate and precious.

“I love you, Moira,” he said, his voice ragged as the impulse to finish warred with the impulse to prolong.

“I love you, my heart,” she said, her own voice raspy with desire. “Please, Loghain, I need more.”

“So greedy,” he grumbled playfully, gripping her hip. “But it _is_ your birthday…”

“ _Pleeeease_ ,” she whined, and Loghain was undone. He curled his arm around her waist and began to rut in earnest, turning her nearly onto her stomach as he thrust his cock hard in her ready quim. Her desperate cries and the eager lift of her hips to meet his every stroke assured him that she was nearly to her peak; he only prayed he could match or outlast her – but if he did not, there were other ways. He needn’t have worried though, for she soon shuddered beneath him, her hot cunt tightening rhythmically as her body gave way to pleasure.

“Mine,” he snarled in her ear as his own climax overtook him. For a moment, he was nothing but nerves, shivers, and ecstasy, as he emptied himself inside the light of his heart, the woman who had saved his life in more ways than one. It seemed base, _almost_ , to enjoy her so carnally when she meant so much to him, but his more elevated feelings of devotion and reverence for her were inextricably tangled with primal desire.

As far as he could tell, Moira agreed.

“Mine,” she replied, curling her hand around his as he relaxed against her back, his cock still pulsing within her.

“Happy birthday, my love,” Loghain murmured, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“Very happy, so far,” she purred, but then spoiled her sultry rejoinder with a giggle and a joyful cry. “Sweet Maker, I love you!” She stretched in delight, and Loghain smiled as he felt her toes wiggle against his ankles.

“I love you, too, Moira,” he said quietly as he withdrew from her body and repositioned himself. “So much.” He pulled her close again and nuzzled her hair as they both adjusted their bedclothes.

“I should get up,” she said reluctantly, suppressing a yawn. “Ciaran will need a change.”

“I’ll get him,” Loghain replied immediately. “You sleep in.”

“Bring him in here then, I’d like to see him,” Moira offered.

“I will in a bit,” Loghain assured her with an indulgent smile. “Enjoy your rest, love. I’ll be back with our son soon enough.”

Moira smiled and nestled back under the covers, while Loghain climbed out of bed, pulled a tunic over his shoulders, and threw on a robe. Stepping into his house shoes, he crossed to her side of the bed and tucked the quilt around her, leaning down to kiss her head. Even in temperate Gwaren, the mornings were chilly this late in the year, and the sight of his warm, happy wife snuggled under the blankets was a pleasant tableau. He placed one more lingering kiss on her smooth cheek and then quietly headed for the baby’s room.

When Loghain entered the nursery, Ciaran was sitting up in his crib, playing with his stuffed mabari and babbling to himself. The boy looked up when the door opened, a brief expression of surprise crossing his soft features. No doubt he’d expected his mother.

“Hi, Papa,” he said, in his clear little voice.

“Good morning, son,” Loghain replied warmly. He crossed to the window and drew back the curtain to let the pale light of dawn brighten the room, then lifted his child from his crib and kissed his cheek. Ciaran squealed in surprise at the feel of his father’s stubble scratching his tender cheeks and placed his little hands on either side of Loghain’s face. He looked at Papa with wide-eyed wonder and then laughed, rubbing his hands up and down his father’s jaw. Loghain supposed it _had_ been awhile since his youngest had encountered him unshaven; usually Moira attended to the baby in the mornings.

“Scratchy, hmmm?” he said, tilting his head.

“Skatchy. Skuh…skuhwratchy,” Ciaran repeated, trying out the new word.

Children were a marvel, Loghain thought, as he carried his son over to the dresser and laid him on the small quilt they used as a changing pad. It was amazing how different they all were, even those born of the same parents – Maker, even those who had shared the womb!

Ciaran was only two, but already he was putting together sentences, and his babyish speech was surprisingly easy to understand. At this age, the twins had still been speaking what sounded like gibberish, although that had been partially due to their exceptional bond, which led them to create a language together all their own. They were nearly four before they stopped peppering in their sentences with grunts and growls that only made sense in their mysterious little twin world. Their older sister, Eleanor, on the other hand, had reached all of her early milestones right on time, according to conventional wisdom; Loghain thought it a bit funny that his dutiful second daughter was punctual even with functions beyond her understanding or control. And Anora, ever the perfectionist, had spoken very little at all until she was past three, but then she’d done so in clear, complete sentences, much to Celia and Loghain’s relief.

Nappy changed, Loghain put Ciaran in a fresh dressing gown and picked him up. “Shall we go down to the kitchen for some breakfast?”

The boy nodded, then wrinkled his brow. “Is Mama birt-day?”

“That’s right, Ciaran, it’s Mama’s birthday,” Loghain replied, a little astonished that he’d remembered and understood. “She’s still sleeping, so you’ll being having breakfast with me this morning. Is that all right?”

“Yes, Papa,” he said sweetly, putting his arm around Loghain’s neck and leaning against his shoulder.

Loghain’s heart lurched with love for his gentle youngest child. Ciaran’s passage into the world had not been an easy one, and even now, he was frail and delicate compared to his hardy older siblings. While his parents hoped that his constitution would improve with age, Loghain also wished for the boy to retain his sweet, affectionate nature, if any part of it had been bestowed by his early trials. Loghain loved all of his children wholly, unreservedly, and without bounds, but he had a particularly tender place in his heart for his youngest, who’d had to battle from birth for every breath, and whose days had once seemed so limited and uncertain. Ciaran might be fragile, but he was a fighter, and as much as one could gauge the character of a toddler, he appeared to be Maker-blessed with his mother’s innate kindness. Loghain both adored him and admired him in equal measure.

In that way, Ciaran was also like his mother.

Down in the kitchens, the cook threw up her hands with delight at the sight of the baby and immediately took him from his father’s arms, clucking over him like a broody hen. The cook’s name was Bedelia, but she’d been christened “Beedy” by Eleanor years ago, and now even Loghain used the undignified nickname more often than not, much to his own chagrin. He watched with tolerant amusement as Beedy placed his son in the gated chair Anora’s grandfather had made for her when she was still in Celia’s belly, and presented the wee little lord with a bowl of porridge topped with berries.

“It’s not too hot, is it?” Loghain called with a trace of alarm as Ciaran enthusiastically shoved his fingers into the mush. Beedy tossed a disdainful look over her shoulder and didn’t even bother to answer him. Clearly, they had their morning ritual down to an art.

Whatever familiarity and attendant lack of deference that Beedy felt for the Teyrn, it was clearly not shared by her kitchen girls, who edged around Loghain like he might bite them at any moment. He smiled patiently, trying to recall what he knew of them.

“Liza, how is your husband?” he asked the older one, remembering that she was married to a man who worked in his stables. The poor girl’s face flushed as red as her hair as she bobbed and curtsied, stammering that her husband was quite well and thanking the Teyrn for his inquiry at least a half a dozen times, until Beedy grew impatient and told her to go wash pots.

“That one’s Maggie, she’s new,” the cook said, pointing her wooden spoon at the other girl. She said _new_ the way one might say _diseased_ or _Orlesian,_ but Maggie didn’t seem to take offense. She nodded shyly at Loghain.

“A pleasure, m’lord.”

“Welcome, Maggie,” Loghain replied, and made a few inquiries about her family, for he liked to know who worked in his house. He was pleased to find that she was a local girl as well; her father was a dockhand while her mother tended their home and their many children. Prompted by his friendly probing, Maggie spoke at length about her mum and younger siblings, until Loghain could easily place the harried-looking woman, barking at her prodigious brood and haggling for deals in the morning market. Satisfied that he knew Maggie’s people and that he’d made her feel sufficiently at ease, he turned his attention back to the cook.

“The older children wish to serve the Teyrna breakfast in bed,” he informed her, and she nodded.

“Aye, I heard as much from Miss Eleanor yesterday. When do you expect them?”

“Soon,” Loghain replied. “I’m going to take Ciaran up to his mother and then go fetch them.”

“We’ll be here,” Beedy replied, turning back to the endless task of preparing meals. With both the Guerrins and their large brood, _and_ the royal family in temporary residence, the poor cook had her work cut out for her. Luckily, despite their lofty stations, not even the Queen and her King stood much on ceremony at Gwaren.

When Ciaran began to spend more time painting the table-top with porridge than eating it, Loghain picked him up and carried him to a basin to clean his hands and face. Once done, he bid his kitchen staff a good morning with a polite farewell. His words were reciprocated nicely enough, but Ciaran’s “bye-bye” and his baby wave were returned with enthusiastic cooing, even from shy Liza.

“ _You_ have the makings of a ladies’ man, my son,” Loghain informed him as they marched up the steps towards the family quarters.

When Loghain pushed open the door to their bedroom, Ciaran spied Moira and stretched out his arms with a delighted screech. Moira was sitting up in bed reading, but at the sound of her son’s high-pitched clamor, she set aside the book and reached for him with a grin. It was all Loghain could do to deliver the squirming toddler safely to his mother’s arms, that was how eager Ciaran was to be at Moira’s side. Loghain didn’t take offense; he knew how much his boy loved him, but especially at Ciaran’s age, Mama was a world unto her own, and Moira was a very loving, attentive mother.

“Mama birt-day!” Ciaran said happily, straddling her belly and gently toying with her hair. “Dood day, Mama!”

 _Dood_ meant _good,_ Loghain realized, marveling all over again at his son’s capacity not only to understand, but to express. It was always a bit surprising, how much little ones could comprehend well before they could respond in language, but Ciaran was his first child since Anora to genuinely startle him with the clarity and depth of his speech.

“Thank you, my sweetling,” Moira replied. She covered his face with kisses as Ciaran giggled, and Loghain felt his insides swell with almost unbearable affection, tenderness, and pride. He walked around the side of the bed and settled upon it at Moira’s side, gently stroking Ciaran’s sable curls as his son made a game of poking Moira’s nose to make her stick her tongue out.

As much as his natural instinct to be active prompted Loghain to get up, get moving, gather the other children and get Moira’s birthday underway, he realized that none of them had very much time like this anymore, one child with the full attention of his parents. The twins no doubt suffered the worst of it, but even with his delicate constitution, Ciaran rarely got Mama and Papa all to himself. So Loghain made himself be still and join their game, tugging Moira’s ear so that she darted her tongue to the corner of her mouth, and then booping her nose to make her withdraw it, then stick it out again. Ciaran quickly insisted upon taking over the venture, so Loghain leaned against his wife’s side and kissed her hair over and over again, watching with a full heart as his beloved youngest played with his mother with childish, unreserved adoration.

After a while, Ciaran’s eyes began to droop and Loghain heard Moira’s stomach growl.

“I think one of us needs a nap and the other needs breakfast,” he said, reaching for the boy.

“I’ll put him down,” Moira insisted, and then winked. “You’ll have enough on your hands managing your wait staff. Don’t worry, I’ll be in bed before you bring breakfast.”

Loghain should have known she was onto their plan. “By now, it’s more like lunch,” he grumbled, but he smiled and kissed her thoroughly, then kissed Ciaran’s forehead. “The children will be devastated if you’re not here to receive their gifts.”

“It will be as if I’m opening my eyes for the first time today,” Moira promised with a cheeky smile. “Now go and wrangle your children, before this one loses the notion to nap altogether.”

With an obedient nod, Loghain hopped off the bed and headed for the guest quarters. Better to find Eleanor first – she could help him manage the twins.

As he turned through the corridors, looking forward to seeing his daughter, Loghain mused that it was too bad Moira didn’t have more than one birthday a year. Even if their secret hadn’t kept, conspiring with his children to spoil their mother was a lot of fun.


	2. Chapter 2

As it happened, Eleanor was already in the hallway when Loghain reached the guest quarters where the Guerrins were staying. She greeted him with a cheerful grin and a hug.

“Morning, Papa! Are we still bringing breakfast to Mummy?”

 _Mummy?_ That was new. At her father’s quizzical look, Eleanor shrugged and lifted her nose in the air. “That’s what Brigid calls Ser Cauthrien. It sounds more mature than ‘Mama,’ don’t you think?”

Maker help him, the last thing he needed was his seven-going-on-seventeen-year-old daughter sounding _more_ mature. Eleanor often seemed like a pint-sized adult as it was, and while he was proud of her responsible and careful nature, he wished he could somehow preserve her in stasis for a few years and enjoy her childhood a little longer. She was growing up so fast.

“Perhaps for Mama’s birthday, she should still be Mama,” he replied. “You two can discuss ‘Mummy’ tomorrow.”

“All right,” Eleanor laughed agreeably. She slipped her hand in his as they walked through the halls together. “Are the boys awake?”

“Ciaran just went down for a nap, and I haven’t seen Bryce or Gareth yet. Shall we go fetch them?”

“Yes!” She swung his hand happily, and babbled about the overnight adventures she’d had with the Guerrin girls. Apparently the oldest was particularly interested in ghost stories these days and she’d managed to frighten her little sisters and make Cauthrien cross.

“ _I_ wasn’t scared, though,” she reassured him proudly. “I knew it was just a story. I wanted to tell them all about the time you and Mum- _Mama_ fought the archdemon, but I was afraid Ser Cauthrien would send me to my room.”

“She would have been right to do so if you had!” Loghain declared with a laugh. “It sounds like Brigid scared the little ones enough for one night.”

Loghain knocked on the door to the royal suite, where Anora stayed with her family when they visited Gwaren. When she’d first married Cailan, it had seemed quite strange to have his daughter stay in the guest quarters rather than her own room, but now that her old room was Eleanor’s and Anora had children of her own, it felt more natural.

“Good morning,” Fergus said, shaking Loghain’s hand as he opened the door. “And good morning to you, Eleanor.”

“Good morning, Uncle Fergus! May I go see my cousins?”

“Of course,” Fergus replied with a smile. “They’re in the bedroom.” Eleanor raced across the small parlor eagerly, then pounded quickly on the door. When Anora opened it, she darted past her like a housecat and joyfully greeted her cousins and brothers.

“You’d think they’d been separated for eight years instead of eight hours,” Loghain grumbled.

Because the Mac Tirs and Couslands traveled frequently between Gwaren and Denerim, their children were very close. Anora’s oldest boy was only a year younger than Eleanor, and her second son had been born just a month after the twins. They saw Teagan, Cauthrien, and their children less often, both because Redcliffe was farther away, and because the bonds between the adults not as strong. As such, Eleanor was usually the only girl in the group, and so she had _agonized_ over which family to grace with her presence for last night’s sleep over. She’d hated the idea of her brothers and cousins having fun without her, but the lure of female companionship had proven too strong to resist, especially since the Guerrins’ visits were rare.

“The boys missed her last night,” Fergus said.

“We missed her, too,” Anora announced with a laugh, emerging from the bedroom. “The boys are much rowdier without Eleanor’s calming influence.” She crossed the room to kiss her father’s cheek, and offered him a cup of tea.

“I hope the twins behaved themselves,” Loghain said with a frown, and politely declined the tea. “We must be going. The children have taken it into their heads to bring Moira breakfast in bed, although at the rate we’re moving, it will be dinnertime before she has anything to eat.” He raised his voice a little. “Bryce, Gareth, Eleanor! To me, please!”

His children appeared from the bedroom, with Anora’s boys on their heels, but the Queen stopped them with an imperious snap of her fingers.

“Back to the bedroom, my darlings, it’s time to get dressed. You’ll see your cousins again this afternoon.”

They complained but did as they were told, as Anora gathered the twins’ belongings and handed them to Loghain. He smiled fondly at his eldest daughter, glad to see her so comfortably and ably filling the role of mother. He’d always known she would be good at it, and he was delighted that Fergus had given her the chance to have the family she’d always wanted. In fact, their family was growing again! When they’d arrived at Gwaren a few days ago, the King and Queen had joyfully confided that Anora was expecting another baby, though they weren’t ready to make an official announcement yet.

“We’ll see you in a few hours,” Loghain promised as he steered his brood back out into the corridor. “Come along, you ruffians. Poor Mama must be ready to eat the bedsheets.”

The children found that idea wildly amusing, and speculated endlessly upon what other items in the bedroom poor starving Mama might eat, as they headed for the kitchens. They greeted Beedy with boisterous exclamations and eager hugs, which she tolerated with an air of exasperation that fooled exactly no one. The three of them began calling out dishes for to be made for Moira (including Bryce’s suggestion of “fried pillowcases,” which the cook met with baffled silence), until the list grew so long that it would take every man, woman and child in Gwaren to carry Moira’s meal to her if they prepared every dish.

“I think you lot are hungry,” Loghain said with dry amusement. “Why don’t you eat your own breakfasts first, and then you can decide what to bring to Mama.”

“Can we eat in here, Papa?” Bryce asked eagerly. Usually only Ciaran was allowed to have his meals in the kitchen; the others were deemed old enough to sit in the dining room and practice their manners like civilized people. But eyeing the glistening pan of sweet rolls Beedy had just pulled from the oven, Loghain decided that to spare the maids an afternoon of scrubbing sticky fingerprints off the table, he’d be smart to allow them a casual meal. Five-year-olds were only _so_ civilized, after all, even when on their best behavior.

“You may,” Loghain replied, “if Bedelia doesn’t mind.”

“’Course I don’t mind,” she said. “Take your seats, my little lords and lady.” The children lined up on the bench at the large wooden table and enthusiastically accepted the steaming rolls Beedy placed on their plates. “Careful, now,” she warned them. “They’re still hot, you’d better blow on ‘em before you take a bite.”

Loghain couldn’t help but laugh as Bryce made an exaggerated show of cooling his food, puffing out his cheeks to their limit and then blowing fast and hard, as if trying to put out a fire. Eleanor eyed him sideways and curled her lip, before delicately puffing at her own morsel, pinching the bit of roll between narrow fingertips to minimize the amount of sugar she got on her hands. Gareth didn’t heed Beedy’s warning at all and put his bite straight into his mouth, then promptly spit it out when it proved indeed too hot. He glanced guiltily at his father, and Loghain spread his hands as if to say, “what did you expect?” but he didn’t chastise him further, as he would have at the dining table. Gareth was a bit sensitive and took criticism hard; he usually knew when he’d done wrong and was tough on himself already, so Loghain picked his battles carefully when disciplining him. This morning, it wasn’t worth spoiling the child’s good humor over an ill-considered bite of food.

Once they’d finished their plates and washed up, the children returned to the bench to plan Moira’s breakfast with Beedy. Eleanor quickly took charge, as she always did, and it wasn’t long before an argument broke out. Bryce kept making silly suggestions, talking over her and interrupting her plans, until Eleanor grew fed up and snapped at him, making him cry. Loghain could see that Gareth was starting to get upset, too, caught between the urge to defend his brother and his own natural preference for order and planning which aligned with Eleanor’s – not to mention his hero-worship of his older sister. Loghain decided he’d better remove the odd man out and let Eleanor and Gareth engineer breakfast in peace.

“Bryce, come with me, son,” he said, keeping his voice warm and cheerful so the boy wouldn’t think he was in trouble. Bryce shuffled to his father’s side, eyes red but no longer spilling tears, and sniffled as he took Loghain’s hand and let himself be led from the kitchens to the coat room by the entrance hall.

“Put on your cloak, we’re going out to the garden.”

Loghain hoped that none of the grounds staff was working this morning, for they were sure to be agog at the sight of the Teyrn and his son in their cloaks and bedclothes, strolling about the garden like nothing was amiss. He had a hunch Bryce needed to burn off a little energy, and a good romp outdoors would be just the ticket.

“Eleanor is so bossy,” his son complained in a small voice as they walked hand-in-hand down the manicured path to the rose garden.

“She can be,” Loghain agreed, “but you were also being more hindrance than help.”

“What’s hindrance?” he asked.

“It means something that gets in the way. You don’t really expect Beedy to cook Mama a hurlock eyeball pie for breakfast, do you?”

“No,” Bryce said with a grin, twisting his foot on the ground. “But it’s funny.”

“Or a dragon-toot soup?” Loghain asked with a harrumph. “How would that even work?”

“I don’t know!” Bryce crowed, cracking himself up all over again. They’d reached the small rose garden and Loghain led his son over to a bench and sat down, pulling the boy into his lap.

“There are times to be silly, Bryce, but then there are also times to be serious. Mama is waiting for her breakfast, and she’ll never get it if you won’t let Eleanor help Beedy.”

Bryce scowled at the admonishment. “I was just playing.”

Loghain sighed and kissed the top of his head. “I know. But you were also teasing your sister, and you chose the wrong moment to do it. Now, Gareth and Eleanor are going to make Mama’s breakfast without you.”

“That’s not fair!” his son cried, and Loghain shrugged unsympathetically.

“That’s what happens when you hinder – you don’t get to help.”

“But it’s Mama’s birthday,” Bryce said, looking genuinely distressed. “I want to do something nice for her.”

“As it happens, I have an idea,” Loghain replied conspiratorially. “It’s a well-known fact that no breakfast in bed is truly complete unless you grace the tray with a flower. Remember that for when you have a wife of your own, young man. Now, looking about this garden, there are still plenty of roses on the bushes. I want you to inspect each one until you find the perfect rose to give to your mother. But be quick about it, we don’t want to keep her waiting long.”

Bryce eagerly set himself to the task, dashing haphazardly from bush to bush in a wild zigzag through the rows, seemingly without rhyme or reason. Loghain was just grateful the fall weather had been mild and that there were still so many shrubs in bloom. When the child finally called him over, certain he’d found the prettiest flower, Loghain ambled over to him, cautioning him to mind the thorns.

The rose was indeed beautiful, a pale creamy yellow with blushing pink at the edges of its petals, not yet fully open.

“You found the perfect one,” Loghain said approvingly, snapping the stem off the bush and handing the bud to his son, reminding him again to be careful of the thorns. They walked back to the house together, Bryce pulling Loghain impatiently by the hand, for he was in a hurry to show off his treasure to his sister.

“You should say you’re sorry for interrupting her earlier,” Loghain advised and the boy nodded.

“Yes, Papa. I will, I promise.”

Eleanor scowled when Bryce re-entered the kitchen with a clamor, shouting about his rose. He glanced back at his father, remembering his promise, and very sweetly apologized to his sister for his previous behavior. Eleanor relented immediately, hugging him warmly and cooing over the beauty of the flower he’d picked. She, too, looked towards Loghain over her little brother’s head, and Loghain winked at her and grinned, earning him a beaming smile from his daughter. Bryce was right, Eleanor _was_ bossy, but she took her role as big sister very seriously and it was obvious how much she loved her little brothers, even when they annoyed her.

“What did you decide Mama should have for breakfast?” Loghain asked, watching Beedy bustle about, filling a plate with a steaming scoop of scrambled eggs.

“Eggs, and ham, and biscuits!” Gareth exclaimed. “It’s almost ready. Can I carry the tray, Papa?”

“Absolutely not,” Loghain replied without hesitation. “I will be carrying the tray.”

“All right,” Gareth said with a sigh. “I just thought I’d ask.”

He sounded so thoroughly resigned that it startled a laugh from Loghain, and he squeezed his son’s shoulder and then tickled his ribs. Gareth squirmed with delight, wrapping his arm around his father’s waist and leaning against him. Loghain hugged him close, determined never to take such sweet moments for granted. If he’d learned one thing from raising Anora, it was that while children were small, even if the days felt long, the years were all too short. His little boys would be young men before he knew it, too grown to be tickled, too big to be held. It was easy enough not to dwell on it day-to-day when they led such busy lives, but Loghain was determined to savor special moments when they happened

“The Teyrna’s breakfast is ready, m’lord,” Beedy said, snapping him out of his wistful reverie. Thanking the cook, Loghain picked up the tray and called to the children, reminding them not to run or yell in the house. They scampered to the Teyrn’s quarters with Loghain right behind them, having a brief scuffle at the door over who would get to open it – Gareth won – and then the three of them tumbled into the bedroom, shouting “Happy birthday, Mama!” over and over as they scrambled upon the bed and covered their mother with kisses.

“Thank you, my loves!” Moira laughed raising her chin up so she could see Loghain over their heads. He smiled at her, patiently waiting for the children to settle before he brought the tray over. “What does your father have?”

“Breakfast!” Bryce bellowed, and Moira winced.

“Indoor voice, please,” she reminded him. “You’ve brought me breakfast?”

“Eleanor and Gareth made it with Beedy and I picked the flower,” Bryce said quickly, in a quieter tone.

“How sweet of you!” Moira cried, hugging them all close. “Aren’t you just the most thoughtful little pups! Now, I need you each to pick a place on the bed and keep still while I eat. It won’t do to bounce my breakfast all over the bedclothes.”

The children giggled at that idea, but did as they were told. The boys settled on either side of their mother and Eleanor sat cross-legged near her knees. Loghain handed Moira the tray, deftly plucking the cup of tea from its surface and moving it to the nightstand, for it seemed virtually impossible that someone wouldn’t get scalded, even if the children didn’t squirm. And they would.

“This is delicious,” Moira exclaimed after taking a bite of eggs. “Thank you so much for this decadent treat. Did you all have fun sleeping over with your cousins and the girls?”

Eleanor told Moira about Brigid and her ghost stories, and then Gareth explained how they’d used Fergus and Anora’s traveling trunks to have a pretend pirate battle.

“Oh, you did?” Eleanor cried with dismay. “That sounds like loads of fun!”

“It was,” Gareth said, “but there wasn’t enough room in the trunks for you.”

“Or maybe there wasn’t enough room for _you_ , if I was there,” his sister sniffed disdainfully.

“Rory would have got booted out, he’s the youngest,” Bryce reasoned pragmatically. “But really, Eleanor, girls aren’t pirates anyway, so we should play a different game when you’re there.”

“Girls are _too_ pirates, aren’t they, Mama?” Eleanor asked, clearly aghast at the idea that her gender might bar her from a career in maritime skullduggery. Loghain rolled his eyes, already knowing how Moira would answer. He could only hope that his wife managed not to make Captain Isabela sound too exciting, for he could not imagine a less suitable role model for his daughter.

“Your father and I met a female pirate once, so yes, girls can be pirates,” Moira said, her eyes twinkling with mirth when she caught Loghain’s forbidding glare. “She was quite the interesting person, I’ll give you that.”

“I knew it! I’m going to be a pirate!” Eleanor declared.

“Me, too!” said Bryce.

“You certainly are not going to be pirates, either of you!” Loghain interjected. “Pirates are scoundrels and thieves. They are the worst sort of people. If you crave adventures on the high seas, learn your way around a ship and become a captain in Queen Anora’s navy. Then you can protect decent people from piracy instead of preying upon those who seek an honest living.” He ended his tirade with a decisive harrumph.

Moira tossed him an exasperated smile, as the children absorbed his declaration with dismay.

“There can’t be a lady pirate,” Gareth concluded after a moment.

“But Mama just said – “ Eleanor protested, but Gareth cut her off.

“That she met a pirate who was a girl. But _Papa_ just said pirates are bad people. So she couldn’t have been a _lady._ ”

Loghain was impressed with the boy’s reasoning, not only because it was an absolutely accurate assessment of the woman in question, but it also seemed like a nuanced distinction from a boy his age.

“I admit, my boy, I would not call the pirate we met a lady,” Moira said, “although I wouldn’t go so far as to say she was a bad person, either. But I agree with your father, Eleanor, that piracy is not a suitable career path for you. Nor you, Bryce, since you must grow up to be a gentleman.”

“But we can be sea captains!” Bryce replied, apparently happy with the substitute.

“Even if I’m teyrna?” Eleanor asked, and Moira laughed.

“Of course! Do you not know that your grandmother, the very Teyrna Eleanor for whom you are named, was one of the most famous naval captains in recent history? She took down her first Orlesian warship when she was only fifteen years old! They called her the ‘Seawolf’…”

Moira regaled the children with tales of their grandmother’s adventures as she finished her breakfast, and the thrill of the late Eleanor’s exploits seemed to have firmly persuaded them that legitimate military service was more exciting and certainly more honorable than piracy. Loghain rather hoped that his Eleanor did _not_ ultimately follow through on her new plan to become the next Seawolf, but it was better than becoming the next Isabela, for certain. He shuddered at the idea of his precious girl running about the port towns of Thedas wearing nothing but a scrap of a tunic, boots, and an aggressive pair of bosoms. Absolutely not!

When Moira had finished eating, Loghain removed her tray to the desk and shooed the children off the bed.

“It’s past time we were all dressed,” he said. “Go to your rooms and get Sally and Norah to help you put on your day clothes.” Sally and Norah were the two maids assigned to help the children with their personal habits, like dressing, cleaning up after themselves, and in Eleanor’s case, having her hair styled. Often, Moira or Loghain saw to such matters personally, but with four children and a huge teyrnir to manage, they both welcomed a bit of help.

Besides, Loghain wasn’t quite through with his wife.

Once the children had scampered off, Loghain locked the bedroom door while Moira threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. She pulled her nightdress over her head and then stepped out of her small clothes, but when she tried to move past Loghain to reach the wardrobe, he blocked her path.

“What are you doing?” she laughed, swatting his shoulder. “Didn’t you just say it’s time to get dressed?”

“Not yet,” he murmured, cupping her naked backside in his hands and capturing her lips for a kiss. He untied his robe and tossed it aside, then pulled his tunic over his shoulders. Moira sighed happily and coursed her fingers across his chest, sliding them through the dark, curly hair.

“You’re insatiable,” she said with a grin.

“On the contrary, I haven’t eaten yet,” he replied, pushing her back until she tumbled onto the bed. Spreading her thighs, he pulled her hips until her beautiful behind was perched on the edge of the mattress, then knelt on the floor. “And Moira, for my breakfast in bed, I want you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And thank you so much, Bain Sidhe, for letting me borrow you doods! <3


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